


Like I'm Losing (my mind)

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Upgrade (2018)
Genre: But Not Much, I think this might be the first fic for this movie so yay!!, M/M, Masturbation, What else were you expecting?, coming on command, its always porn, look Stem is just curious about humans and sex okay, non-binary Stem, of course its porn, slight orgasm denial?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: If the computer in your head helps you jerk off, is it considered just plain old masturbation, mutual masturbation, or a handjob?





	Like I'm Losing (my mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [宛如迷失/Like I'm Losing (my mind)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972944) by [QAQ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QAQ/pseuds/QAQ), [SageMasterofSass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass)



> hello. i understand it takes a certain kind of person to come out of that movie and think "wow. i want the man and the creepy AI that kills him and its creator to live happily ever after!" and yet. here we are. this fic isn't necessarily that happy ending but like this porn idea has been swirling around since i saw just the trailer for this damn movie. 
> 
> anyways, i use neutral pronouns for Stem cause they're a COMPUTER but also they're still Grey's trigger happy boyfriend. I think they might need some therapy ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ also, what do you think Grey and Stem's ship name would be? Stey? Grem? let me know what y'all think lmao we gotta get this party started

“Grey.”

 

His name doesn’t register. Instead, he’s focused on soft hands, sliding across skin. A firm touch, light playing over a slender figure, his hands, rough and calloused, touching everything he can reach.

 

“Grey.”

 

The figure is indistinct, which he realizes is odd somewhere far in the back of his mind. But for now he sweeps his hands down their flanks, smooths his thumbs over pert nipples, groans into the arch of a throat.

 

“Grey.”

 

Distantly he can feel his hips hitching and something soft and faintly damp under his cheek. He shoves his face into the fabric and moans. Slowly but surely he comes out of the dream, but everything is light and airy. Surreal. He’s still grasping at those faint images, a pliant body under his own. His hips grind in little circles against the mattress and his fingers twitch restlessly against his pillows.

 

And then again, “Grey.”

 

Everything freezes. Everything just…stops. The voice, oddly hollow yet still managing to convey some semblance of regret, echoes in his head.

 

“Stem,” he rasps. His body is still thrumming but he holds himself so __so__ still.

 

“I am sorry to have had to wake you,” the chip responds. Their tone suggests actual regret at pulling Grey from his dream, but doesn’t carry even a hint of embarrassment at catching a full grown man humping his bed like a teenager. Grey wishes he could say the same.

 

“Uh, yeah, man, I guess. Whats up?”

 

There’s a pause, and then, “This sensation is strange. I was not sure how to respond.”

 

Grey nearly chokes on his own damn tongue. He vaults out of bed, fingers already running through his hair in nervousness.

 

“You can __feel__ that _ _?__ ”

 

“Yes.” The reply is calm, even. “I am connected to your nervous system. I can operate it at will, but I still detect outside stimulation.”

 

 _ _Outside stimulation__. Grey glances down his body, and cringes at the sight of his dick still hard in his boxers. There’s a wet spot where pre-cum has leaked through.

 

“Right, uh.” His mouth feels dry.

 

“I do not know how to handle this sensation, but it seems to cause you some distress,” Stem continues. “Would you like me to turn off your pain receptors?”

 

“My pain…” Grey trails off. His head is still foggy, like he’s half asleep, and he honestly has no idea what’s happening right now. He shouldn’t be hard anymore honestly, Stem and their calm, analytical voice should definitely be killing his erection. Instead he’s so hard it’s almost painful…which has the receptor comment making sense at least.

 

“No don’t. Don’t do that,” he finally says. He’s holding his arms awkwardly away from his body, like that will help anything.

 

“This is…pleasure?” Stem asks after a second, and Grey chokes a little again.

 

“Uh, yeah, you could say that.” Though it would definitely be more pleasurable if he actually had a hand on himself. Right now he just feels on edge, wanting but not getting. “Just um, give it a minute or two. It’ll go away.”

 

“I was not designed with very much sexual knowledge, but this is called morning wood, is it not? A quick search of the internet suggests it will not merely __‘__ go away’ due to active stimulation on your part. Nocturnal penile tumescence can often last as long as thirty minutes, and in certain cases multiple hours-”

 

“Okay!” Grey snaps, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Okay, yeah, whatever, just please stop talking about my penis.”

 

“So you will masturbate, then?” Stem’s voice carries an odd note of hopefulness.

 

“What!?”

 

“You said ‘okay’ implying that you would not simply wait for the erection to go away, and instead do something about it.”

 

“ _ _What!?__ ” Grey’s voice has gone shrill with a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment.

 

“I must admit I find myself eager to explore this part of humanity. I wonder why I was not programmed with more knowledge on this subject.”

 

Grey’s jaw flaps for a second, but eventually he manages a strangled, “Because you’re not a __sex robot__ maybe? And what do you mean __eager__ , Stem, I’m not masturbating in front of you…with you...around you, whatever.”

 

“Why not?” Impeccably calm, reasonable.

 

“It’s something you do in private, Stem! I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.”

 

“Is this not private? Is this not intimate, Grey? We are in your home, your bedroom, alone.”

 

Grey shivers, despite himself. “Yeah but…”

 

“I am inside you, Grey. Is that not the definition of intimacy?” Either he’s truly going insane now, or Stem’s voice has gotten deeper, slightly more demanding. How is that even possible?

 

When Grey can do nothing but stand there, chest heaving with his breath, Stem starts to speak again, low and even. “I can always take control again. With your permission of course. It was not hard to gain knowledge on this subject, and I think I would rather enjoy creating pleasure for you. Just say the words.”

 

Unable to help himself, the image comes unbidden to Grey’s mind. His own arms, hands, turned against him, no longer in his control. The touch would be familiar and not. If Stem turned off the nerves in his hands it might even feel like someone else was touching him all together, a sexual act instead of a masturbatory one.

 

“I…” The thought starts and dies on his tongue.

 

“Yes, Grey?” Stem practically purrs. They’re an AI a __widget__  there’s no way they can sound sensual, or sexual, and there’s no way that voice makes Grey’s cock twitch in his boxers.

 

Except those things are possible, and they’re both aware of his arousal. Because Stem really is inside him, able to track each and every blood cell, every electric impulse, every heartbeat. He can hide nothing from Stem except his own thoughts.

 

“I hate you,” Grey mutters, but his hand is on his stomach, hot even through the fabric of his t-shirt. It slides down slowly, simultaneously teasing and nervous. This is a bad idea. This is __such__ a bad idea.

 

“I gave you your life back,” Stem counters, but there’s nothing malicious in their voice, no censure. “Now I want you to give me this. I want to feel it.”

 

Grey’s eyes fall closed, which is almost worse. Now there’s nothing but the darkness behind his eyelids and his own hand, slipping beneath the band of his boxers. He breathes in sharply through his nose when his fingers brush the base of his cock.

 

“ _ _Oh__ ,” says Stem, and the single noise flashes brightly behind Grey’s eyelids. Like a projector on a blank wall, a brief series of pale colors.

 

His hand is shaking, Grey realizes. He takes a moment to tease, warming himself up by scratching gently through his pubic hair, never quite getting close enough to touch again. His boxers feel rough against the head of his cock, the fabric gone tacky, so with his other hand he pulls the band down underneath his balls.

 

“My research suggests you will need some kind of lubricant,” Stem offers, and Grey snorts, the moment partially ruined. His eyes flutter open and his hands move away from himself.

 

“Yeah, guess it’s good I come prepared or whatever.” He takes a moment to pull his clothes off completely, then grabs the lube from under a pillow and tries to make himself comfortable in the bed.

 

The lube is mostly unused, because he and Ash…

 

No, he’s not going there right now.

 

Resolutely Grey closes his eyes and tries to get himself back into the moment. He started this, and he’s going to damn well finish it. Luckily, it’s not difficult to refocus because he’s still painfully hard.

 

And, as has been the case for a while now, he has something of a helping hand.

 

“How often do you do this for yourself?” Stem asks, voice low again.

 

Grey squeezes lube into his hand, not much because he likes a little drag, and rubs it between his fingers and palm to try and warm it up.

 

“Not often,” he finally admits. “My sex drive is...” Well, since gaining PTSD it’s been nonexistent. Until he woke up this morning, that is.

 

Sensing a touchy subject, Stem leads them away. “Do you enjoy it? Pleasuring yourself.”

 

Rather than answering that, Grey finally wraps a hand around himself. He can’t help the groan that climbs out of his throat, his fingers squeezing gently.

 

“I can see why,” Stem rasps a moment later. They seem just as affected as Grey. “More.”

 

Grey can only obey. He starts with a slow pace, long, drawn out strokes that have heat settling low in his belly and his hips aching to drive up after his own fist. His breath is coming faster now, his heartbeat in his ears. The sound does nothing to drown out Stem’s voice.

 

“More,” they demand softly, so softly. “Grey, we need __more__.”

 

So Grey lifts his other hand and scratches a hard line up his own stomach, hard enough that he knows his nails will leave red lines in their wake, visible for days. The bright flash of pain rocks through him and he gasps, unsure which hand to arch up into now. The fist on his cock is moving faster, lube squelching obscenely between his fingers.

 

“Fuck,” he moans, and abandons scratching so he can pinch and twist at his nipples. That in and of itself is another kind of torture, a mixture of pleasure and pain that makes his body sing.

 

“So sensitive,” Stem murmurs. “It is to my understanding that the average human male does not react quite this strongly to nipple stimulation.”

 

It should be a turn off, listening to Stem casually compare him to the ‘average male’, cold and analytical to the end. But he just twists his wrist on the upstroke and makes a needy noise in the back of his throat.

 

“Stem,” he whines, mostly without meaning to. He has no idea what he’s asking for.

 

But apparently Stem does. “Hush, Grey. Just follow my instructions.”

 

Grey nods and then turns his face into his pillow, eyes squeezed shut tight to watch the play of colors on his eyelids as Stem speaks.

 

“Good. I want you to stop touching yourself, Grey. Place your palms flat against the mattress.”

 

It’s physically painful to pull away now, but Grey manages it with only a faint whine. His whole body trembles, everything in him focusing on wanting that pleasure, on wanting to chase it to its end.

 

“My research suggests a denial of pleasure is a pleasure all it’s own.”

 

Grey huffs and curls his fingers into the sheets. Voice slightly strangled, he manages, “Something like that. What next?”

 

“Just lay there a moment for me,” is Stem’s response and Grey has to bite his lip to stop the groan of frustration that wants to leave him. “Focus on yourself, your body. That line of heat up your stomach from where you scratched yourself. The increased blood flow to your nipples. The aching need that is making your thighs quiver.”

 

It’s such an odd conglomeration of analytical and dirty talk and it really shouldn’t be turning Grey on more but it __is.__

 

“I can feel it too. How hard you are, the way you keep dripping pre-cum. It is…overwhelming.”

 

Grey’s hips hitch of their own accord. He’s hyper aware of his body now, of the twitch of every muscle, the sweat gathered on his brow and under his arms, the places where he’s sticking to the sheets. But most of all where his cock is hard and heavy, curved up against his stomach.

 

“Do you want to come, Grey?”

 

Eyes still squeezed shut, Grey nods against the pillow.

 

“No. I need you to answer me verbally. Do you want to come?”

 

“Yes!” Grey chokes out, feeling like he’s suffocating from his own need.

 

“Give me control.”

 

The words make him freeze for a moment, surprised. They’re so cool, and calm, but also so weight filled. In the end he can’t help himself.

 

“Please, Stem. Make me come.”

 

“Gladly.” Stem seems to exhale the word, despite their inability to breathe. “Now open your eyes, I want you to watch.”

 

Grey’s breath shudders out of him unsteadily, but he turns his face out of his pillow, eyes opening oh so slowly. His hand lifts itself, no longer under his control, and settles just between his pecs. The fingers spread there, and he can __feel__ them, can feel calluses on his own skin, but can’t actually feel his fingers. They’re foreign under Stem’s control, the sensation turned off.

 

“I can still feel the feedback from your hand,” Stem informs him softly. “I am blocking it from you, of course. But I can feel it.” Like Stem is actually the one touching him. Sex instead of masturbation.

 

The hand on his chest starts to move, making soft, sweeping circles that trail lower and lower as they go. Every place the fingers brush feels electric afterward, hyper sensitive, until he’s trying to press up into the faint pressure. The movements are somewhat jerky, stiff, a robot’s precise and straight lines. But the sensation is all still there, the fingers scorching like hot brands against him.

 

When those fingers finally wrap around his cock, so familiar and yet so foreign, his eyes slip closed of their own accord as he gasps. The sensation after being denied, being teased, is __amazing__.

 

“No,” Stem admonishes, hand stilling immediately. “You must watch.”

 

Grey pries his eyes open again with effort, and Stem purrs a soft, “Good.” The hand resumes a soft, slow exploration of his length, lingering on the sensitive spot just under the head. He can’t help his shiver or the way his thighs spread further.

 

“This feels good, doesn’t it, Grey?”

 

He’s caught onto the necessity of a verbal reply by now so he strangles out a “Yes.”

 

The fingers squeeze gently, and then start pumping in earnest.

 

“Fuck,” Grey rasps, his other hand, the one still in his control, reaching up to grab at a pillow. “Fuck, Stem.”

 

“Do you still want to come, Grey?”

 

The hand speeds up, just this side of rough, the way he likes it, skin pulling a little where the lube isn’t thick enough. Grey resolutely watches, despite the way he wants to throw his head back and arch into it.

 

“Yes, fuck yes of course I do, Stem.”

 

A stretch of silence, filled only with Grey’s panting breath and the slap of skin on skin.

 

Then soft, demanding, “Then come.”

 

His orgasm rips through him so quickly, so strongly that it takes Grey completely by surprise. His back comes up off the bed, toes curling in pain-pleasure as the hand, __Stem’s hand__ , works him past the point of sensitivity. Cum splatters up his stomach, hot and tacky, and he can do nothing but stare unseeingly at his ceiling.

 

Stem’s hand finally pauses, stops, lays flat against his quivering stomach.

 

“You are now in full control again, Grey.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Grey breathes, because what else can he say? He’s just come harder than he has in a long fucking time, and it was because of a damn __computer__.

 

“This was very informational,” Stem continues. Their voice seems rugged somehow, which makes sense if they also just felt that phenomenal orgasm. “Thank you for letting me explore this part of humanity. I hope you will continue to allow me to do so.”

 

It’s a bad idea. Scratch that, it’s a __terrible__ idea and Grey absolutely knows it.

 

Still, what slips between his lips is, “Yeah, sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey if you enjoyed this, or the movie, you should come chat with me on [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)! you can send me prompts or headcannons and ill def write more Upgrade stuff if i can find anyone else even remotely interest


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